Episode 60
“Ehem. Don’t lose your nerve. Time we moved.”
Hans’s stealth skills—honed through a lifetime of scraping by in the back alleys—were at a master’s level.
If it were only him, he could vanish without a trace.
If it were just me.
But the men who’d tagged along, lured by the promise of money, were different. Compared to trained soldiers, they were nothing but rabble.
Still, what did Hans care what happened to a bunch of moths burning themselves up for gold?
“Let’s go.”
The knight order’s soldiers combing the area were tightening their net. Time was running short.
“Boss, be careful.”
“Yeah. You too.”
If they made it out alive, finding more fools like these would be no trouble. Concealing his thoughts behind a neutral face, Hans gave a sharp glance to those nearby.
“See you on the other side.”
***
The hunting grounds lay in the thickly wooded eastern forest.
Deer, rabbits, and foxes made their homes here, though occasionally a wild boar appeared.
“Wild boar?”
Sharie, who had been absentmindedly stroking the kestrel perched on her shoulder, blinked at Annette’s calm explanation.
Just moments ago, the forest had seemed peaceful. Now, the thought of wild boars gave it a menacing air.
“If one shows up now, wouldn’t that be a problem?”
“In Varhad, even five-year-olds run out into the snowfields to hunt boars.”
“Five… years old?”
Once again, the cultural gap made itself painfully clear.
Among the Rabbitfolk, it took several grown men working together with traps to bring down a single boar.
To think of a child facing one—hundreds of pounds of muscle and tusks—was absurd.
“Should you feel uneasy, you may return to the tent.”
Annette gestured toward the rest tents not far off.
Sharie had no intention of joining the hunt. Her true purpose at this event was to build connections with society’s elite.
But if she returned now, she’d only be swarmed again with endless questions.
“Mm…”
She recalled the barrage of stares that had pierced her the moment she entered the tent earlier and hesitated.
“I’ll stay here a bit longer.”
In Varhad, Kaisa was a man of renown. From the palace nobility to the street urchins, all hailed and adored him.
His popularity was not merely because he was chieftain. Among the Serpentfolk, who prized strength above all, Kaisa’s birth—carrying the strongest trace of the Founder’s blood—was legend.
And his commanding physique, paired with strikingly refined features, made him all the more captivating.
Yet Kaisa himself had no interest in social affairs, nor did he keep many companions.
Naturally, all the spillover of that attention fell on Sharie.
“This time, there’s no avoiding it,” Annette said with a delicate cough.
“You must adapt. There will be far more eyes on you at the banquet tonight.”
She had expected as much when she took on the role of Sharie’s escort. Preparing her for the coming celebration was no small task.
“Do you remember what I told you?”
“Of course.”
Annette had reminded her countless times: the hunt was only the prelude. The true battlefield of society was the banquet that followed.
Barely accustomed to tea parties, Sharie had been forced to learn at breakneck speed.
All Annette wanted was simple—by the time the hunt ended, Sharie should possess the poise of a lady of standing.
The endless lectures still rang in her ears even when she closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to hear more of them now.
“Oh, Annette, look! A squirrel! Isn’t it adorable?”
Her desperate attempt at changing the subject fell flat.
“Yes, quite adorable. But more importantly, Lady Sharie, your steps are too heavy. Try to walk more on the balls of your feet.”
“We’re just walking, not dancing…”
“Habits are built through daily repetition.”
Annette’s every motion—whether walking, turning her head, or even nodding—was practiced elegance itself.
Annette isn’t wrong, but still…
Just as Sharie resigned herself to obeying, Annette brought up something else—something mortifying.
“That dance you performed at the campfire during the Cedric Range expedition—pardon me, but such wild movement would never be acceptable in polite society.”
“You saw that?”
Sharie’s voice rose in shock and embarrassment, but Annette remained composed.
“You danced in the middle of the village square, bathed in firelight. Did you truly think no one would notice?”
There was no defense. She had simply been carried away by the moment.
Which meant the passionate kiss that followed—and her stepping into Kaisa’s tent—had all been witnessed as well.
Her face burned scarlet.
“But… was it really that bad?” she asked timidly.
At the time, she had been genuinely happy. And Kaisa had even praised her, saying she was doing well.
Seeing her pleading gaze, Annette faltered slightly.
“Perhaps not… wild, exactly. But you should move with more care in the future.”
The softer tone offered little comfort. Sharie’s shoulders slumped.
Then she suddenly lifted her head.
“…A smell.”
Her eyes turned toward the dense thicket.
If the Serpentfolk prided themselves on physical might, the Rabbitfolk excelled in their senses—keen hearing and smell that surpassed any other beastkin.
“You don’t smell it?”
“Smell what?”
Annette frowned, confused.
The Serpentfolk lacked the range of the Rabbitfolk. At close quarters their senses were sharp, but distance dulled them.
“I can’t smell anything… But it’s awfully quiet.”
Her expression hardened.
Even without scent, instinct warned her something was amiss.
The cries of birds. The scurrying of woodland creatures. The forest had gone silent.
Annette’s mind raced.
The hunt grounds were sealed for the event—no one could enter without clearance. Every participant’s identity was verified.
The only remaining possibility was—
GROOOAR!
With a deafening roar, a hulking beast with matted fur burst through the brush.
A werewolf!
“Lady Sharie! This way!”
Annette shoved Sharie behind her and reached into her satchel.
Though a scholar, she had not come unprepared.
Boom!
The small explosive she hurled detonated against the creature’s chest, flames engulfing it.
The werewolf howled in rage, staggering but not stopping.
“Now! We must flee!”
Sharie hesitated. If she used her magic, could the two of them fight together?
“No! The two of us cannot defeat it!”
Annette’s voice was sharp, brooking no argument.
Werewolves were apex predators. Their skin hardened like stone, deflecting most blows. Even trained knights struggled to bring one down.
Those bombs could do no more than buy them time.
“Run!”
Annette gave her a push, and Sharie stumbled forward, glancing back over her shoulder.
The stench hit her nose again—so pungent it made her gag.
That odor was not normal.
The beast’s entire body dripped with a strange green fluid, the source of the smell.
Had it been doused in some kind of concoction?
The werewolf roared, its burning eyes locking on her.
Its massive claws slashed the air, grazing her cheek—splattering her with flecks of the vile green liquid.
“Ah!”
She staggered, nearly collapsing, until Annette grabbed her arm and steadied her.
“Hold on—we’re almost there!”
They burst from the treeline into a small clearing where the horses were tethered.
“Thank the gods—they’re unharmed.”
The beasts were calmly grazing, oblivious to the chaos.
If she faltered now, she’d only burden Annette further. Sharie scrambled onto a saddle, her breath ragged.
“Go, quickly!”
Before she could ask what Annette meant, the woman’s palm struck the horse’s flank with a sharp slap.
Neigh!
The startled steed reared and bolted, carrying Sharie away at full gallop.
